Ripping Wings off of Butterflies
by rachhudson
Summary: She's just a confused teenage girl. Shouldn't that count for something? A Quinn character study. Mentions of Quinn/Puck, Quinn/Sam, and Quinn/Finn.


**I just really love Quinn Fabray, and it saddens me how much hate her character gets, so this is a small character study-like fic I did. I really hope you at least learn to appreciate Quinn if you don't already. :)**

**Contains hints of Quick, Fabrevans, and Fuinn, but definitely Quinn-centric.**

* * *

><p><em>part one: beth<em>

She watches the nurse take her baby away.

She told herself she wouldn't get attached, told herself that this was the right thing to do, but suddenly she feels cold, so, so cold. Numbness spreads throughout her body, and she draws the hospital dressing gown around her more tightly.

"She's gone," Puck says hollowly. She glances over at him. He's in the chair next to her bed, still watching the door their daughter just disappeared out of. "She's gone."

He reaches over to grab her hand, but she slides her fingers away, angrily wiping the tears out of her eyes. She gave up the right to be sad about this when she gave up her baby girl.

Quinn squeezes her eyes shut, trying to convince herself that it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it just doesn't. It doesn't matter how warm and soft the baby felt in her arms – doesn't matter that they gave her a name. Doesn't matter that Puck looked at her and looked at the baby like they were all he needed for the rest of his life.

She can't handle that. She's a sixteen-year-old girl and having a family is filed under things she absolutely _cannot handle_.

She hears Puck sigh, and she turns over, burying her face in the pillow.

She'll just pretend this never happened. It'll be easier that way, at least on the outside.

On the inside, she's sure she'll feel empty forever.

* * *

><p><em>part two: puck<em>

It's almost too easy to push him away.

He tries at first, tries to get her to open her door, tries to make her answer her phone. But then he stops coming by the house, stops calling.

She and Puck just sort of fall apart.

There's no yelling. There's no crying.

All of a sudden, there's just… nothing.

She tells herself it's what she wants, over and over again in the muggy summer air when she's sitting on the front porch because she can't sleep. If she sleeps, she'll just see her baby's face. Or Puck's.

Or both. Side by side.

She can't handle any of that.

Much like she does with Puck, she pushes away her feelings as well, burying them deep down inside of her, so far deep that, after a while, she's not so sure she had a baby at all.

She can move on. She can forget.

But the emptiness is still there. She wonders what will make it go away.

She wonders if _anything _will make it go away.

* * *

><p><em>part three: cheerleader<em>

She zips up the red and white uniform and she immediately feels safe. She feels at home. Nothing can touch her – not the whispers, not the stares, not even the memories that have plagued her all summer.

She tightens her ponytail, adjusting her lip gloss with a smooth, manicured finger. She inspects her reflection. The cold, steely glare of the head cheerleader looks back at her.

She smiles.

She's back where she belongs – on top. And she holds her head high when exits the bathroom, hands on her hips as she struts down the hallway. The whispering is the good kind, all heads snapping to her, and she can't help but smirk.

Then Santana comes out of nowhere, demanding to know why Quinn told Coach Sylvester about her boob job. Quinn smirks as she replies, then Santana gives her a sarcastic smile before slamming her into the locker. She reacts immediately, grasping dark hair between her fingers and tugging, sending Santana flying into the metal instead. Santana spits her ponytail out of her mouth, and she lunges again, grabbing Quinn by the shoulders and throwing her to the ground. Quinn gets up, glaring daggers at the girl who's supposed to be her friend.

She hears Brittany say, "Stop the violence," softly, but she pays her no mind.

Santana wants a smackdown? Oh, she'll _get _a smackdown.

Mr. Schuester comes between them, reminding them that they're a family, and then Santana says, "Oh, please! She _has _a family, she's a _mother_!"

Quinn makes to lunge at Santana, but Mr. Schuester grips her around the waist. "Walk away!" she shouts as Santana turns and heads back down the hallway. "And tighten up your pony before you get to class!" She's breathing heavily, fury still coursing through her.

Once Santana's out of sight, Mr. Schuester lets her go.

"Quinn, what was that about?" he asks her, looking at her intently.

She shrugs, trying to keep her fury in check. "Just jealous I suppose. I'm back as head Cheerio."

Mr. Schue eyes her uniform wearily. "So I see."

Her gaze hardens. "Well, I'll be off to class now." Her voice is cold, even to her own ears.

"Quinn," Mr. Schue says softly.

She ignores him, turning her back and walking back down the hallway.

She's trying to get back the feeling she had when she first put on the uniform – like she was unstoppable.

But then Santana screamed those words at her – _she's a mother! _– and suddenly she's not so unstoppable. Suddenly she just wants to sneak into a bathroom, lock herself in a stall, and cry.

_She's a mother. _If she truly is, she's a terrible one. She abandoned her baby girl.

And, although she won't admit it, she misses her every day.

She doesn't run though, doesn't cry. She holds her head high, still acting like she owns the school.

She's only broken on the inside, but she thinks that if someone looked hard enough, they'd be able to see the cracks in her smile.

* * *

><p><em>part four: sam<em>

She doesn't know what to think of the new kid at first. He's a little weird, his mouth is rather large, and his hair is really _blonde_.

But he's sweet, and when she sings with him, she thinks he might be able to help her forget – about Puck, about the baby, about everything. So at first, he's just a distraction.

But then she starts to actually _like _him. He's sweet and accommodating, his kisses not sloppy (like Finn's), or wanting (like Puck's). His kisses are sweet and slow, just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of tongue. He's also so gentle, cradling her face like she could break.

And if she thinks about it, she guesses she _could _shatter at any moment, shatter into a million, tiny pieces.

She assumes Sam knows about Beth, assumes he's heard things around school. They don't talk about it.

That's the thing with her and Sam – they don't really talk at all. He's sweet and cute and he really likes her, and right now, she thinks it's what she needs.

When she's with Sam, her life is a lot simpler.

She really likes the idea of simple right now.

* * *

><p><em>part five: sectionals<em>

Quinn never thought she'd be seeing a duet in front of hundreds of people. And on top of that, she never thought that she'd _enjoy _it. But she smiles and she sings and she flirts with Sam onstage, and it's kind of perfect.

Well, as close to perfect as it can get.

She catches Finn's eye when they're backstage after performing, a sad little grimace on his face, and she's reminded of last year, when she broke his heart – and when she broke her own as well. She's reminded of salty tears racing down her cheeks, hands on her swollen abdomen, Finn's screams of "_I'm done with you!_" echoing around the choir room.

She quickly looks away.

Sam grabs her hand, tugging her back out on stage before they announce the winners.

And when their group is announced, Quinn smiles, a real, honest smile for the first time in ages. She lets Sam hug her, takes in the scent of him, and she just smiles wider.

Sure, they tied, but they're going on to regionals – and for now, that's enough.

More than enough, really.

It's times like these that Quinn realizes that glee club is always what makes her truly happy, truly whole. She loves being a cheerleader, but she loves being in glee club more.

God, when did that happen?

* * *

><p><em>part six: different<em>

She ends up having to _actually _choose between glee club and cheerleading. And, predictably, she chooses wrong.

She's worried about what people will think if the head cheerleader defects to the glee club, if she gives up her coveted spot because she likes singing showtunes. So she does the cowardly thing, hiding behind her white and red uniform and her letterman's jacket, anxiously waiting to board the bus that will take them to Nationals.

Until Finn shows up.

Until he urges them, all three of them – her, Brittany, and Santana – to come back to glee. To tell them that the team's not complete without them.

His gaze lingers on her and she smiles softly at him. And, to her surprise, she agrees.

He's different now. He's not the scared little boy he was last year, and he's not the wounded one shooting her heartbroken looks either. This Finn is comfortable, comfortable in his role, comfortable in his skin.

She's reminded of why they were together in the first place. Because it made sense.

She goes back to glee, but she has this funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. She thinks it has to do with Finn.

Maybe they could go back. Maybe they could fix everything.

Maybe they could be perfect.

But then she remembers Sam, and she quickly pushes away the thoughts of her ex-boyfriend.

Puck gives her a slight nod when she, Santana, and Brittany brush past them on their way to the bathroom to put on their zombie makeup, catching her gaze for a brief moment.

Her blood freezes, because he looks at her and it's like he knows everything: Her every thought, her every move. She's always wondered how Puck has this effect on her.

But then he looks away, and the feeling fades.

She heads into the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind her, shutting her away from any of thoughts of Puck or Finn or Sam at all.

* * *

><p><em>part seven: cheater<em>

Finn inches closer to her, his hand sliding to her waist, and then his lips are on hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth, and she squeezes her eyes shut, fireworks bursting into being behind her eyelids.

She pulls away, looking up at him in confusion, but he just smiles lightly, leaning in to kiss her again.

She backs away. "I – I can't," she tells him shortly. "S-Sam. I can't."

Finn frowns. "But you already did."

"Finn, _please _try to understand," she whispers. "I – I might still care about you. But I care about Sam, too. I can't be a cheater, Finn."

His lips are set in a hard line, and he stares icily at her. "But Quinn, you already are."

She doesn't know if he's talking about just now, or last year with Puck, but either way, it stings, his words cutting her like shards of glass.

"I'll let you know," she whispers. "But I – I can't do this."

She turns, her dress swishing behind her as she exits stage right, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her lips tingle as she pushes open the doors of the auditorium, but it's not a good tingle. It's one of regret. It feels _wrong_.

Because she _cheated_.

Sam is wonderful and sweet and kind and oh God she _cheated_.

She starts to cry when she reaches her car because she cheated and she's a terrible person and she loves Sam, doesn't she?

_If you loved him, you wouldn't be here_.

She's just a confused teenage girl. Shouldn't that count for something?

The tears just come faster and she furiously wipes at them, trying desperately to figure out why she keeps doing terrible things to people she cares about.

* * *

><p><em>part eight: choices<em>

She picks Sam over Finn.

She tells him she'll meet him at Color Me Mine, smiling at him cheekily as he shuts his locker. When he looks at her, his eyes are sad.

Quinn doesn't understand. She's choosing him.

But then he tells her that he knows – knows that she cheated. And the worst part is he's not even _mad_. He's just resigned, sad, his mouth seeming wider as he frowns.

"I – I wanna be with you, Sam," she says quietly.

She knows that as the words leave her mouth, they are some of the truest she has ever spoken.

He just sighs, says he's not mad at her. And then, just like that, he leaves.

She feels her heart break, and she stares down the hallway after him. She can't move. She's in shock.

The worst part is, she doesn't blame him. She _cheated_, she _wronged_ him. She would've left her here, too.

So she just stares after him, the hole in her gut growing bigger than ever.

She kind of hates herself right now. She kind of hates herself more than ever.

* * *

><p><em>part nine: finn<em>

It's weird that once Finn has her, he doesn't seem to want her as much. He says they can't let anyone know about them – because of Rachel.

Quinn wants to hit something.

What is it with him and _Rachel_?

(She knows though, deep down, what it is. He cared for, still cares for her probably. He's just pushing his feelings deep down, kind of like she's been doing as well. She just convinces herself that sooner or later, the feelings will fade – both hers and his. And new, fresh feelings – feelings for each other – will form in their place. It's the way it's meant to be.

She refuses to come in second place in this – especially to Rachel Berry.)

* * *

><p><em>part ten: rachel<em>

She tells Rachel they should write a song together, but in reality, that's the last thing she plans on doing. She plans on laying down the law, letting Rachel knows where she stands.

She can't have Rachel Berry taking the one thing she can control in her life right now: her relationship with Finn.

She starts off by telling Rachel how it is. But Rachel's stubborn; Rachel refuses to see that Quinn has Finn, _will _have Finn.

So Quinn has to kick it up notch, has to slash Rachel down, cut her with her words. Once she starts, she can't stop; the future plans she has for her and Finn are just spilling from her lips, Rachel's expression becoming more hurt with every syllable.

By the end, Rachel leaves in tears.

Quinn frowns, a twinge of guilt in her stomach. She convinces herself that Rachel needed to hear those words, that she wouldn't've given up, not unless Quinn had told her the inevitable. It was for Rachel's own good.

If she convinces herself it's more about Rachel than herself, maybe she'll feel less like a terrible person.

So she does.

* * *

><p><em>part eleven: queen<em>

She and Finn are supposed to be together. It makes sense.

At least, that's what she keeps telling herself.

She focuses on the logistics of their relationship. She focuses on the fact that, currently, she and Finn are on top. And she plans on it staying that way.

So, naturally, the way to cement her social status is to win prom queen.

She makes campaign buttons, posters, makes sure she and Finn are at all the right places with all the right people. She can't lose. Because this race, as of right now, is the only thing she can control in her life.

Finn doesn't seem so into it. In fact, he hasn't really seemed into much since they've gotten together.

Quinn knows that – like usual – it has to do with Rachel.

But Quinn refuses to worry about her. _She's _the one with Finn, and that's how it should be.

Glee hosts a Night of Neglect to raise money – which turns out to be an epic failure – but Quinn doesn't see it that way. She sees it as an opportunity to gain more votes. So she passes out candy in the aisles, little tags that say '_Vote Fabray for Prom Queen!_' tied around the sticks of the suckers.

She's doing everything in her power to make sure she can get that crown.

She _needs_ it. She can't explain why, but she does.

Maybe it has something to do with the emptiness that still fills her soul, with the gaping hole that's still in her gut. Maybe winning prom queen will fix her, heal her, help her forget the things she's been pushing away.

She certainly has to try.

* * *

><p><em>part twelve: lucy<em>

She hates reliving her past, but Lauren Zizes is forcing her to, studying her intently as she takes a breath in the abandoned French classroom. She finds herself telling Lauren everything, everything there is to know about Lucy Fabray.

She considers Lucy to be a different person. It's not her any more. It _can't_ be. That's why she had the plastic surgery, why she fought so hard to lose all the weight: She didn't want to be that girl any more.

But, quite frankly, she doesn't want to be the girl she's become lately either.

"So you hate yourself," Lauren notes.

Quinn shakes her head. "No, I love myself, and that's why I did all those things." Her voice sounds tired, beaten, broken, even to her own ears.

Lauren doesn't seem to believe her, either, just says there's something she might be interested in on the bulletin board.

Quinn rises from the desk, hesitantly walking over to the door, placing a hand on the cool handle. She glances back at Lauren, and something in the other girl's expression makes her heart pound faster, and she quickly opens the door, lunging into the hallway.

She sprints, her shoes slapping against the tile floor, her hair whipping around her face. She sees a crowd in front of the board already, and she runs faster, blood pounding in her ears, her breathing shallow.

She pushes the students aside, her panic-stricken eyes scanning the board. She finds it, the picture blown up to ten times the size it once was. The thirteen-year-old version of Lucy Quinn Fabray stares down at her: chubby, wearing braces and glasses, brown hair pulled into pigtails.

She grabs the poster hurriedly, tearing it down, her fingernails scraping the back of it in her hurry to hide it away. She throws it to the ground, and before anyone can react, before she can hear the whispers and the taunts and the laughter, she turns and runs, her feet carrying her far, far away.

She brushes past Lauren, who is sporting a smug look on her face, and Quinn feels the tears sting her eyes. She can't let her see her cry – can't let any of them see her. So she waits until she's safely raced into the girl's bathroom – which is thankfully empty since the bell for third period is ringing overhead.

She studies her reflection in the mirror. Her face crumples as the tears spill down her cheeks, her breathing ragged as she struggles to breathe, to make sense of what's happening.

How could Lauren be so cruel? How could she do this to her? How could she ruin _everything_?

Quinn hiccups, turning on the faucet and splashing some water onto her face. She looks back up at her reflection, her eyes swollen and puffy, her cheeks blotchy, and suddenly she realizes that _she's _been that cruel girl – maybe not to Lauren, but to _so _many others, mainly Rachel. She's laughed, she's called her names, she's drawn unflattering pictures in the bathroom stalls.

And if this is what Rachel feels like _every single day_, then she has no idea how she holds her head so high, how she comes to school with a smile. She's reminded of middle school, when she was the butt of every joke, and how she'd beg her daddy to let her stay home, beg him to not make her go.

She doesn't want to be that girl ever again, so she knows she has to clean up, then face all those people, head held high.

She's going to work on not being the bitch either.

She needs to find a happy medium between the girl she was and the girl she's become because, frankly, she can't stand either of them.

* * *

><p><em>part thirteen: ultimatum<em>

It would be easier to be nice to Rachel if she weren't so _infuriating._ She has the audacity to insult the duet Quinn and Finn perform, and even points out that she and Finn have more musical chemistry. (And, sure, Quinn knows that, but she's obviously not going to admit it, especially to her. So she just scowls, folding her arms across her chest.)

Rachel goes on to say that she and Finn should duet at Nationals, and Quinn tries to bite her tongue, she really does, but the words spill out anyway, slipping off the end of her tongue with ease.

"Okay, Finn, if you wanna be with me? No more duets with _her_." She throws a spiteful glance in Rachel's direction before she storms out. She's just so _angry_, angry at Rachel and angry at Finn.

And she's even angrier the next day.

Rachel's singing – not surprising – and Finn is set behind his drum set, sticks in hand, a smirk on his face as Rachel parades around him.

Quinn clenches her fists to keep from punching something. Finn catches her eye for a brief second, and she marvels at how _obvious _he is. He's practically shouting at her, _This isn't a duet, I'm just playing the drums. But this will piss you off all the same._

She just takes a deep breath. Fine. He's not choosing? She'll at least take that as a victory for now.

Rachel continues eye-sexing with _Quinn's _boyfriend, and she just reminds herself, over and over, the words in her head like mantra, _Finn is with me Finn is with me Finn is with me_.

She pictures prom, Finn by her side and a crown on her perfectly coiffed hair, and she bites back a smile.

She and Finn are meant to be together, and Rachel Berry or no Rachel Berry, that's the way things are going to be.

* * *

><p><em>part fourteen: prom<em>

Quinn doesn't win prom queen. Kurt does. And it's _humiliating_.

She races into the bathroom, biting back tears. It's all Finn's fault; he just had to get himself kicked out, had to pick a fight with his ex-girlfriend's ex-boyfriend, had to make her look like a fool in the middle of prom.

Footsteps sound behind her, and Quinn spins around to see Rachel herself, her expression worried, studying Quinn carefully.

Quinn decides that this whole mess isn't Finn's fault at all – it's _Rachel's_.

"This is _your _fault!" she says fiercely, angry tears welling up in her eyes. "No one ever would've voted for me because they _know_ he'd rather be with you."

"That's not true!" Rachel protests, but it is, it is, it _is_, and before Quinn even registers what she's doing, she cocks her arm back, slapping Rachel hard, right across the face.

Rachel's hand flies to her cheek, and Quinn feels regret wash over her. This has gone too far, and over what? A stupid crown? She knows it's actually more than that – much, much more – because this crown signified control, signified everything turning out the way it's supposed to, and now everything's upside down.

Now, she's slapping Rachel Berry in the girl's bathroom and mentally cringing because she's a terrible, terrible person. "I'm so sorry," she whispers.

Rachel doesn't seem to mind that Quinn just physically attacked her as she heads over to the sink, inspecting the raw, pink skin of her cheek. She says something about appreciating the dramatics of the moment, and Quinn goes over to stand by the sinks as well. She thinks that the real reason she's always picked on Rachel is because Rachel is comfortable with who she is. She doesn't worry about keeping up appearances, doesn't worry about being the image of perfection every single day.

Rachel gets a paper towel from the dispenser, and Quinn takes a deep breath. "I know you think it's hard to be you, Rachel, but at least you don't have to be terrified all the time."

Rachel looks puzzled. "What are you so scared of?"

Quinn looks up at the ceiling. She's scared of _so _many things – scared of not being perfect, scared that one day her little baby girl will hate her for what she's done, scared that she'll end up like her mother – or worse, her father – scared that everyone will turn away, hate her, leave her, all alone. Above all things, she's scared of being alone.

She doesn't tell Rachel any of this, though. Instead, she says, "The future. When all of this is gone."

Rachel sighs, handing Quinn a moist paper towel. Quinn dabs her face gingerly as Rachel says, "You have nothing to be scared of. You're a very pretty girl, Quinn. Prettiest girl I've ever met." She pauses. "But you're a lot more than that."

Quinn hesitates, biting her lip. Maybe Rachel's right; maybe she is more than the head cheerleader, more than the prom queen candidate, more than the girl who had a baby when she was sixteen.

Maybe she can actually get out of Ohio, head somewhere else, _anywhere_ else.

She thinks she'd like that.

* * *

><p><em>part fifteen: noticing<em>

Quinn notices the way Finn looks at Rachel. She thinks it's odd that she notices but he doesn't. He doesn't realize his gaze lingers on his ex-girlfriend, doesn't realize that his eyes soften when she begins to speak.

But Quinn does. And she wishes Finn would look at her that way, at least every once in a while.

If she thinks about it, she's not sure he's _ever _looked at her the way he looks at Rachel, even before Rachel came into the picture. The only person she can remember looking at her like that is Puck.

But she quickly pushes that thought aside, because she hasn't spoken to or thought of Puck in months. He's just a reminder of the things she longs to forget, the life she pushed away.

She catches him looking at her sometimes, though. It's not the same way that Finn looks at Rachel, but it's intense, probing. Like he's trying to figure her out.

She doesn't like it. It makes her uncomfortable, mainly because if there's anyone that can see right through her, see deep inside her, it's Puck.

She's too screwed up inside, and the last thing she wants is anyone – least of all him – figuring that out.

* * *

><p><em>part sixteen: tears<em>

Finn's crying when she climbs into his truck. She assumes it's because of the service – which was beautiful, honestly. She's wrong.

He says he's breaking up with her.

"Because of Rachel? Because you still love her?" Quinn clarifies, bile crawling up her throat. This can't be happening. No no no no. This isn't how things are supposed to go.

Finn says something about how he was just trying to fix things, how he shouldn't have pursued this with her. He explains about how Coach Sylvester's speech affected him, with that line about tethers. He says he doesn't feel that with her.

Quinn feels like punching something. Finn's making the wrong decision, thinking rashly, and she knows she has to keep him in check, like usual. "But you do with her?" she asks, struggling to keep her voice even.

Finn doesn't answer.

"No," she says quickly. "We're not breaking up." She can't handle losing even more control in her life, can't bear the thought of _him _breaking up with _her_, even if they're all wrong, even if he loves another girl. "I – I can handle your confusion with Rachel until you get over it. We're gonna stay together, and next year we'll be prom king and queen and—"

He cuts her off. "Stop it, okay? I don't want that life."

She wants nothing more than to tell him he doesn't know _what_ he wants – how can he? – but she holds it in, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. She can't lose control, she can't. She can't look vulnerable. She has to stay strong.

"Don't you feel _anything_ anymore?" Finn asks her, his voice loud and angry. "This is _real_. This is _happening_."

She turns to glare at him, a stray tear streaking down her cheek. She's not heartless. She's not. She thought he knew that, thought he understood, but he's just like the rest of them. "Are you happy now? Is this me _feeling enough _for you?" she spits out, hand on the door handle.

"Quinn, I'm sorry," he says quietly as she pushes open the door. His fingers stretch toward her, reaching for her. "I still love you—"

_But not the way he loves Rachel._ "Don't touch me!" she shrieks, and then she dismounts from his truck, slamming the door behind her. The tears are now falling freely down her face, and she feels a pure pain in her gut. She just wants to be loved, wants to be someone's first choice. Is that so wrong?

* * *

><p><em>part seventeen: alone <em>

Santana's banging on the door of the bathroom, insisting that she needs to "repencil her eyebrows on." Quinn inspects her reflection one last time before she opens the door, telling Santana the bathroom is all hers.

She heads into the main part of the hotel room, Santana and Brittany trailing behind her. "Everybody's already in the other room working," Santana points out.

"Yeah?" Quinn asks. "Is Mr. Schue in there? Because I _think _I'm gonna tell him that Rachel and Kurt keep sneaking off." She pretends to look thoughtful; she just wants someone – _anyone _– to feel as shitty as she does right now.

"You can't do that," Brittany gasps. "He'll have to suspend them."

Santana just narrows her eyes as Quinn says, "And there goes our chances at Nationals! _Darn_!"

"You know what?" Santana says, folding her arms across her chest. "We get it. You're pissed about Finn dumping your sweet ass. _Get over it_."

"I don't wanna get over it!" Quinn says hotly. Because it's not even about Finn, not really. It's about not being good enough.

"The only person you're sabotaging here is yourself," Santana points out.

Quinn loses it then, the fury she's been holding inside just exploding as she screams, "I don't care about some _stupid _show choir competition!"

Brittany looks terrified, but Santana gets right back in her face, saying, "Well, you _should!_ Because this is the _once chance_ we have to _actually _feel good about ourselves."

Quinn feels her face crumple, and she takes in a deep shuddering breath. Life's just not fair. "Aren't we supposed to be the popular girls?" she asks, her voice a little louder than a whisper. Santana just rolls her eyes. "So why can't we have our dreams come true? _She _has love, Tina has it. Even Zizes hooks up." She looks at both Santana and Brittany, a tear slipping down her cheek, and she knows that they have it, too, and not just friendship. They have a love like it seems she never will.

She turns away, going to sit over on the edge of the bed. Santana and Brittany follow, sitting down on either side of her. She thinks of Finn, who chose Rachel, Sam, who left her for Santana, Puck, who let her push him away, and who chose Lauren in the end. Quinn lets out a small sob. "I just want somebody to love me."

Brittany brushes her hair out of her face, and Santana looks at her sympathetically. A few more tears slip down her cheeks as Santana suggests a haircut to make her feel better, and she sighs. Santana leans her head against hers, and Quinn didn't realize until now how much she's missed this – having friends.

Maybe there are people who _do _love her, even if it's not in the way she's always hoped.

* * *

><p><em>part eighteen: summer<em>

She spends most of this summer alone, just like the last one. She reads some Jane Austen, a few contemporary novels. She watches a lot more television than she had planned, catching old episodes of _Friends_ or _That 70's Show_ in the middle of most afternoons.

She also develops insomnia. It's pretty much impossible for her to sleep. Memories of last summer keep plaguing her, images of Puck and Beth and it's all just too much. So she doesn't close her eyes. She doesn't sleep.

If it's nice enough, she sits out on her front porch, her legs bare and her hair fluttering in the slight breeze. She looks up at the stars and she wonders what might've been. What if she had kept her baby? What if she had let Puck in? Maybe they would be a little family. Maybe she'd have love – true love, the unconditional kind.

Sometimes, she even imagines she could have it still.

* * *

><p><strong>I really hope I did Quinn justice. Once season three gets underway I might attempt a follow up, a sequel of sorts, but we'll see.<strong>

**Thank you so, so much for reading, and I'd love to read your thoughts! :)**


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